Within seconds of entering the stage, Danny Dolan is attacking the kit like it owes him money. And you know what that means? The Virginmarys are in the house.
These last few years, they’ve added a raw punk edge to their sound, and when Ally Dickaty spits, “Same old Labour, same old Tories,” in “You’re a Killer,” be in no doubt: these boys mean every damn word.
“Trippin’ New York City” is a maelstrom from the new record—perhaps the best of their career. But what’s interesting is hearing the old stuff played in this way. In practice, that means “Portrait of Red” is infused with something scary.
It all comes alive on stage, as always, but “Northwest Coast” particularly stands out. And when “Where Are You Now?” explodes, it leaves nothing behind.
They know how good House Beyond the Fires is—it’s obvious from how much they play from it. “When the Lights Go Down” is one of a clutch that already belongs on big stages. But look, there’s one that stands above the rest. “There Ain’t No Future” is glorious too. And never mind no future—everything about them screams warmth and empathy. Power running through ya, indeed.
They’re veterans now (which makes me feel so old!), so when they end with “Bang Bang Bang,” you can reflect—if you wish—on all the times you’ve seen them over this decade-plus journey. Or you can look forward. That’s what they do. Fresher now than ever.
With a name like Blacktop Mojo and hailing from Texas, you’d expect a ZZ Top-type affair.
No one told them.
What this five-piece does is groove. Simple as that.
Their shirts had been selling briskly even before they arrived, so when Matt James asks, “Birmingham, let me hear you scream!” during their opening track, he’s already among friends.
“Where the Wind Blows” which follows, is big and thick, with a touch of BLS about it.
They’re one of those bands—kind of like Clutch—where you just have to nod your head along to the beat, and “Burn the Ships” is a prime example. James is energetic enough to carry a crowd with ease.
Touches of AIC are evident throughout their sound, but “The End Is Gonna Come” has clear echoes of Soundgarden. It sounds enormous.
Straight out of the arena rock playbook, “Please Don’t Call” gleams. “I Can’t Tell” serves as a tight, hard-hitting rocker in the middle of the set, and the band’s joy at playing it is infectious—something made even clearer when a cake arrives for guitarist Malcolm’s birthday.
More than that, though, they’ve got everything you need. “Trouble on the Rise” boasts a killer hook, and there’s a nod to Jerry Cantrell’s men in “Them Bones” too.
“The End” soars, while the slower “Prodigal” sees them chasing dreams—it clearly comes from the heart. And “It Won’t Last” finally brings in the bluesy side you might have expected, closing in a crescendo that sees them end Skynyrd-style with three guitarists, as bassist Matt Curtis switches to lead. It’s top-drawer stuff.
And anyway, all indications are that it’s lasting just fine. “Can you feel it?” James had asked.
It was obvious. Blacktop Mojo are coming back to much bigger venues than this.
There’s a moment a couple of minutes into “Red Hands Black Deeds” when it kicks in. And you realise, as MV has noted in reviews, that Shaman’s Harvest aren’t quite like other bands.
There’s a kind of menace about them—the way Nathan Hunt stands and delivers his vocals into two microphones immediately gives them an edge, a fact they underline by playing the supreme “Dangerous.”
What also makes Shaman’s Harvest intriguing, though, is their lack of image—their eschewing of gimmicks and their focus on the songs themselves.
Whether it’s the haunting harmonies of “Blood in the Water” or the undeniable highlight that is “Bird Dog,” where the chorus thunders, their songwriting remains front and centre.
They recently put out a new single, and while “Rock N Roll Queen” is perhaps more energetic and soulful, it’s part of the yin and yang of the band in general—and this set in particular—where the upbeat and the dark come together, much like “Voices” straight after.
Josh Hamler—one of their guitarists—sings a snippet of “Welcome to the Machine,” which segues into “Lilith” with tremendous skill. And that skill is evident again on the slow-building “Blood Trophies.”
They might not have the overt arena-rock trappings of most US bands, but the knockabout “Country As Fuck” is still a fun singalong.
However, as if to prove they don’t follow the formula, rather than a bombastic crescendo, they bring it down again for “Silent Voice.”
The co-headline nature of the set means no encores, but with a simple “Y’all keep requesting these, but we’d have done them anyway,” Hunt leads them into “In Chains” and “Dragonfly.” Given the reaction, it’s clear they’ve made an impact here just as they have back home.
And that’s sort of the point. For both bands, this is obviously something to be proud of—thousands of miles from home, packed rooms, and connection everywhere you look. A real study in rock as a universal language. But perhaps it’s simpler than that: great songs just matter, and every band tonight had plenty of them.
